


Way Home

by apicturewithasmile



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Agnesgate, F/M, Lizzington - Freeform, Lizzington Week, Romantic Angst, angsty romance, call it what you want, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 15:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apicturewithasmile/pseuds/apicturewithasmile
Summary: Liz finally gets the damned memory back (aka the second time Krilov blocked a memory of hers) so if you want to find out what really happened on that shipping container in 3.02 and how she manages to finally remember it then read this!





	Way Home

**Author's Note:**

> I'm placing this in season 7, which has not even started yet but whatever... just imagine Red's been saved from Paris and then this fic happens.

She woke up in a cold sweat. It was the fourth night in a row that Elizabeth had had the same dream. She could see no faces, hear no voices but she knew he was there. Reddington. An aura of him lingered over that dream; it was as if she could feel him in the room when she woke up.

The alarm clock beside her bed told her in aggressive red numbers that it was 5:23am. She could either try to sleep for another hour before her alarm would go off or get up now. But before she could make up her mind, her phone began ringing. _Nick’s Pizza._

“What?” she said.

“Sorry for waking you up.” Red said on the other end. “I’m downstairs with fresh coffee and a bagel.”

“You got to be kidding me. It’s half 6 in the morning!”

“I know, I know! But I’m due for take-off in an hour and I need to talk to you before I leave.” He cleared his throat. “I fear it’s a matter of relative urgency.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the world isn’t going to end if you don’t let me come upstairs now but the coffee will get cold. It’s already in grave danger of reaching the pitiful state of piss-warm and you know that’s a death sentence for every cup of coffee, no matter how high-quality the beans were.”

Silence on Elizabeth’s end of the line. She was rubbing her eyes, wondering if she should just hang up and go back to sleep or if the prospect of lukewarm coffee actually didn’t sound so bad.

“Please.” Red said.

Liz sighed. “Oh, alright, give me two minutes.”

* * *

She was waiting behind her closed apartment door, lurking through the spyhole until he was standing right in front of it. Only now did she unlock the door and its various security locks.

He smiled at her as she opened the door and help up a paper cup and a bag that both had the logo of a bakery printed on them that Liz had never heard of. She didn’t ask. The risk of being served an outstretched detailed review of the place was too big, so she just took the cup of coffee and signalled him to follow her into the kitchen where she grabbed a used plate out of the dish washer for the bagel.

“Do you have a new blacklister?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. I might when I come back from Prague.”

“What are you going to Prague for?”

“To get a new blacklister.”

She rolled her eyes at him. It was definitely too early to deal with his sass. “Then why did you want to see me now?”

“To bring you breakfast.” he said. “Well, and to say goodbye.”

“You never say goodbye before you fly off to god knows what kind of business you’re always flying off to.” she said, following it up by taking a big sip of just-a-degree-above-piss-warm coffee. “Why this time?”

He took a deep breath and suddenly seemed less cheery as before. Though he did a decent job at hiding his face behind his coat collar and under the brim of his hat, she could still see he was struggling to find a way to say what was on his mind. It suddenly occurred to her how absurd the situation was – ten minutes ago she had felt his dominating presence in her dream and now he was standing in her kitchen right in front of her; and neither in the dream nor now was she able to get a hold of him. He would slip right out of her fingers like a fish whenever she tried to grab a piece of him.

“I just thought after what happened in Paris…” He stopped, as if this half-sentence was somehow enough to answer her question. He handed her the paper bag with the bagel. “You should try it. It’s cottage cheese with sun dried tomatoes, basil and a sprinkle of red pepper infused olive oil. Just the right amount of spicy to give you a good kick-start for the day. I had one myself on the way here. Absolutely delicious. Though I must warn you: any future bagel to come your way, for the rest of your life, will pale in comparison. In my opinion it’s worth it, but then again I have most of my life and plenty of bagels behind me already so I’m perfectly comfortable knowing I won’t ever have a better bagel than this one.”

Elizabeth smiled the first smile of the day. Sometimes she admired his resilience; how he would always try to change the subject rather than showing just a fraction of vulnerability. It seemed to come particularly easy to him when there was an item of food involved. But she wouldn’t let him get away with it this time – though she did take the bagel from him and put it on its designated plate. “You just thought what? After what happened in Paris…?”

He swallowed. “I thought if things go sideways again then at least your last memory of me includes an amazing bagel and a decent coffee. Though I assume the latter is already diving fast into the realms of undrinkable beverages. I should’ve gotten the reusable thermos cup they had on offer, instead of the paper one. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” she said, taking another sip to prove it was still okay to drink. “How long will you be in Prague?”

“Two days if everything goes as planned.” he said and then took a glimpse at his wrist watch. “And I fear I have to be going already. Enjoy your bagel.” He left the kitchen and Elizabeth followed him to her apartment door where her instincts told her to give him a hug. It was a quick one but intense enough to trigger the fragment of a memory to flash before her eyes.

She stumbled back, a bit weak in the knees.

“Are you okay?” Red looked worried and put his hand on her upper arm for support. “You look pale.”

“Yes.” she said. “I’m fine. Sorry, I think I might’ve stood up too fast. Should get my iron levels checked. Take care, okay?” She opened the door and pushed him outside. “Bye. Thanks for the bagel.” She closed the door behind him and pushed her entire weight against it as if a beast was waiting behind it, ready to devour her.

It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory.

* * *

The bagel was left untouched on the kitchen counter. She couldn’t eat a single bite after the realisation that the dreams she had been having since Paris were bits of a memory coming back to her. Not just any memory but the one that Bogdan Krilov had blocked from her mind four years ago.

“You had uncovered a certain truth about Raymond Reddington. And he couldn’t have that.” – that’s what he had said. But Red insisted that he wasn’t the one who hired Krilov this time. She wished it was easier to believe him. But now she didn’t know truth from lie, memory from dream anymore. She needed help finding her way back to reality so she went to see a former acquaintance who had succeeded in undoing Krilov’s work once before.

Liz knocked at the door. After a few moments Doctor Orchard opened it, looked at her and as soon as she recognised Liz, she tried to close the door again but Liz had already put one foot inside and held it open.

“Please. I need to speak to you.”

“Go away!”

“Please let me in.”

Eventually Orchard let go of the door and Liz stumbled inside. They stood in the hallway, both breathing heavily. Orchard was propping herself against a dresser, trying to keep her distance from Liz. She seemed terrified.

“I’m not here to hurt you or harm you in any way.” Liz said, holding her arms out in front of her.

“You say that but any time you show up, me and my family are in danger.”

Liz nodded. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry you got somehow dragged into this mess that my life is. But I need your help remembering something.”

“I already did what I could. I can’t dig any deeper. If parts of the memory are still blocked I fear they will stay hidden forever.”

“I’m not talking about the childhood memory. There’s another one. They did it to me again. Four years ago. I’m beginning to have these dreams and flashes.” Liz began pacing up and down the hallway, trying to make sense of it all. “I can’t put the pieces together; it’s all blurry and confusing.”

Doctor Orchard seemed to relax a little but still stayed on the other end of the hallway, near the door. “I’m sorry, Agent Keen. I did what I did because my son was in danger. I would have never done a memory retrieval process just like that and I can’t just do it now. It’s not just highly unethical but also dangerous. But if you’re already beginning to have memory flashes then I suspect they will get more frequent and the memory will eventually come back to you on its own. If you like I can refer you to some very competent colleagues of mine who can guide you through that process.”

“I don’t need therapy. I need my memory back!”

“Then I fear I can’t help you.” Orchard said.

Liz held back tears, apologised for the intrusion and left.

* * *

Bogdan Krilov was kept in a federal prison, about three hours by car from Washington. Liz would be able to get there, talk to him and return back home in a day, so she arranged for a babysitter to pick Agnes up from day-care and then phoned Cooper to let him know she wasn’t coming in to work. She had briefly considered calling in sick but then decided to tell the truth – that she was taking a field trip to see the man who had dared to manipulate her memories not just once but twice.

“Are you sure you want to go alone?” Cooper asked. “You could take Ressler.”

“Thanks but I’d rather to this on my own.”

“Well then, promise you’ll be careful and let me know when you get there.”

“Will do. Thanks again.”

After arriving at the prison it took almost another hour until her security details were processed and she was led through to an interrogation cell. To her surprise Krilov was already waiting for her, his hands chained to the table and his ankles to one another.

“Are the restraints really necessary?” she asked the guard that accompanied her.

“Standard procedure.” the guard replied. “But I can take the handcuffs off if you want?”

“Yes, please.”

The guard did so without hesitation while not failing to give her a look that was meant to say “if he jumps your throat that’s on you, girl!”

“Playing good cop/bad cop this early in the meeting already, Agent Keen?” Krilov said.

Liz waited until the guard had left the cell and closed its door behind him. She knew he would still be able to hear her through the metal bars but she still liked to pretend she was alone with Krilov before addressing him. “I know you’re not going to hurt me.” she said to him eventually while sitting down opposite him. “You’re too scared of the consequences.”

“And what would those be?”

“Reddington.” she mouthed while checking that the guard wasn’t watching.

“So?” Krilov said, somehow managing to convey a Russian accent even in a word this small. “Has he told you what memory I blocked for him?”

“No, but you’re going to tell me.”

Krilov leant forward in his chair, putting his arms on the table as if to show off how close he could get to her without handcuffs. “You didn’t really think this through, did you? You have to make up your mind, Agent Keen. What is it going to be – am I supposed to be afraid of the man because he is protecting you or do you want me to betray him for you? Either way, sounds like I’m going to end up with a bullet in my head.”

Liz shifted around in her chair; she would have to change her strategy if she wanted to get anything out of him. “Let’s skip the warmup and get straight to business, shall we? You have something that I want, name your price and we’ll both benefit.”

He shook his head, a content grin on his lips. “Not going to happen. Maybe you should ask his old lady friend.”

“What?”

“The little babushka who works for him.”

“You’re talking about Mr. Kaplan. Why would I want to be asking her?”

“Because she’s the one who brought you to me. You’d really think the concierge of crime himself would show up and get his hands dirty? No, he sends his cleaner instead.”

She could suddenly feel every muscle in her body tense with adrenaline. What if Kate had hired Krilov on her own, pretending to be following Reddington’s orders?

Pressing Krilov further didn’t work, he completely shut down and refused to so much as answer with Yes or No to her questions so she left, fuming with rage and more questions than she had had to begin with.

Reddington wouldn’t be back for at least another 48 hours and she’d spend each and every one of them mentally preparing a speech for him to hear.

* * *

Dembe opened the door looking tired. “El–”

“Dembe.” she said interrupting him and then immediately stormed inside the hotel room, looking for Red.

She found him sitting on the sofa, his feet on the coffee table and a glass of wine in his hand.

“Elizabeth!” He straightened himself and put the glass down. “Nice to see–”

“You know, don’t you?”

“Know what?”

“You know which memory Krilov took from me. The second time around, I mean. You know what he took. He told me it was Mr. Kaplan who brought me to him. He’s convinced that you hired him but you told me you didn’t. Now tell me which of you two criminals I am supposed to believe.”

Red didn’t move. His eyes were fixed onto the same spot between her eyes, staring at her, through her, inside of her – like a sniper waiting for a clear line of fire.

“Yes, I know which memory he blocked.” he said. “But I’m not going to tell you.” And so the sniper takes his shot. “As for who hired him: it wasn’t me but I’ve been suspecting Kate myself for a while. If Krilov is telling the truth about her then she acted on her own which wouldn’t have been the first and certainly not the last time she did that.”

“I don’t understand why she’d do that to me.” Liz said. “She cared about me. She loved me.”

Red sighed. “I’m sure she thought it was the best for you. Maybe she even thought it was the best for me.”

Liz had trouble finding the words she had so carefully planned out over the past two days. It had all seemed so easy and reasonable in her head and when she practiced in the car what she’d say to him but now all she could do was resort to begging. “Please tell me, Reddington. I need to know. Tell me!”

“No.” He stood up from the sofa and took a step towards her but she immediately backed away.

“I have a right to know. You can’t keep this from me any longer.”

“I cannot be the one to tell you, Elizabeth.”

She wanted to shout at him, break something, fight him, anything to let the anger out and direct it at him but instead she found herself fleeing the scene like a frightened animal. It was only when she reached the parking lot that she realised she was running.

“Elizabeth, wait!” Red shouted. He had followed her and was now standing right beside her, clearly out of breath, reaching out but not quite touching her. “Can I explain?”

“There’s nothing for you to explain. You don’t want me to remember what happened. It’s that easy.”

“No, it’s not! None of this is easy for me.” he yelled, then immediately apologised for doing so. “I understand your anger, your desperation. I understand because I feel it, too.”

“Then why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because I’m afraid that once you remember you’d wish to forget again.” He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, and when he looked at her again he showed her this raw vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to see. “That memory, or rather the lack thereof, significantly shapes your perception of me and I don’t want you thinking that I am making something up or that I’m omitting facts to manipulate you in any way. Trust me, Elizabeth, despite my fears I want nothing more than for you to get that memory back. I wish you’d have never lost it in the first place. But I cannot possibly be the one to tell you.”

Tears were running down her cheeks but she wasn’t as angry at him anymore, just exhausted and desperate. “I tried remembering on my own. I was having dreams, so I asked Doctor Orchard for help but she refused; I went to see Krilov in prison and he told me about Mr. Kaplan but I have nothing to offer that would make him talk about the memory he blocked. He thinks you hired him and is afraid of what you’ll do to him if he talks. And since I can’t ask Kate anymore I have nowhere else to go to but _you_.”

Red broke the eye contact and stared at the ground for a while until he spoke again. His demeanour completely changed within the fraction of a second. The vulnerability was gone, the guard was up and he got straight to business. “That’s not quite true. There is one more place you can go.”

“Where?”

“The place where it happened.”

* * *

“I’m sorry I couldn’t arrange this faster.” Red said when they met in front of what looked like a massive warehouse three days later. “I had to pull a lot of strings.”

“This place doesn’t look familiar to me.” Liz said while looking around, trying to find something distinctive about this place that would help her remember if she had been there before.

“Oh, we’re not quite there yet.” Red pointed towards a small path that led around the warehouse. “After you.”

When they reached the back of the building, Red knocked on a rusty metal door. A minute later it opened with a creaking noise and no other than Glen Carter welcomed them inside.

“How long do we have?” Red asked.

“Hello to you, too, Red. Elizabeth. How are you? I’m fine, thanks for asking. How’s mother? Oh, she’s still struggling with her arthritis but–”

“Glen!” Red said with a voice that could kill. “How long?”

Glen pretended to be upset but one annoyed look on Red’s face later he went into business mode. “An hour max. Sorry, that’s all I could do.” he said and shrugged his shoulders, then took something out of his pocket. “Here’s the key.”

“What is this place? A garage?” Liz asked. The warehouse was full of cars, many of which were more or less damaged. The lights in the warehouse were kept out, probably so as to not attract any unwanted attention and Liz wanted to keep it that way, but it meant she couldn’t see more than what a the autumn sun coming in through the dusty skylights would reveal.

“Kind of.” Red said to her, then he turned back to Glen and took the key. “You cover the backdoor, Dembe is handling the front.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please.” Red said through his teeth, getting visibly more aggravated by Glen’s attitude.

“Aye, Captain!” Glen saluted Red, waved at Liz and then walked out the back door, leaving the two of them behind alone.

“This way.” Red pointed towards the far end of the building where Liz could see the outlines of a large rectangular box.

She took another look around her, this time focussing on the rows of cars they were passing on their way to the box, and noticed the car doors were all sealed with the kind of tape she had seen used by forensics plenty of times. “It’s evidence. All these cars have been involved in crimes.”

“That’s right. Specifically federal crimes of the kind that the FBI doesn’t really want to get public. Too juicy to store them officially, but too important still to throw into the pacific – so they put them here, a black site. And as luck would have it Glen knows one of the guards, a former colleague of his at the DMV.” He stopped as they reached the box. It was a shipping container and Red looked at Liz awaiting some reaction. “Looks familiar?”

“I’m tempted to say it does but once you’ve seen one shipping container you’ve seen them all, I guess.”

“Wait till I open her up.” He walked to the door of the container and unlocked a large padlock with the key that Glen had given him. The left half of the door swung open, followed by the other half. “Let’s see if Glen managed to get the power working.” Red said as he stepped inside and flipped a switch about a meter away from the door.

The lights flickered on and revealed a tastefully decorated interior. A large sofa, modern chandelier and nautical themed wall art created a cosy living room and in the back Liz could even make out a small kitchenette. She compared the outside dimensions of the container with what she could see inside and assumed this couldn’t be all it had to offer. It was about 12 meters long and she could barely see half of it.

“I’ll just let you explore.” Red said, stepping back outside of the container. He seemed nervous, almost fidgety. The strictly-business attitude that he used towards Glen was now completely dissipated, making Liz wonder how severely that blocked memory could really change her opinion of him.

“I’m right out here if… if you need me.” he said.

The first thing that she noticed as she stepped inside was the record player. She flipped through the handful of records beside it but none of the titles sparked her interest. It was mostly classical music – not the kind of genre she was well versed in – so she went over to the sofa and sat down. She looked around the room, soaked in the atmosphere and did begin to feel like she had been there before. But it felt more like remembering someone else’s story than reliving her own.

She stood up and went over to the kitchen. It seemed to have been fully functioning at one point. It would probably still be if the taps hadn’t been removed, presumably by one of her colleagues at the FBI – someone might have liked them a little too much and so they were now gracing a different kitchen. Her hand glided across the wooden counter top and suddenly a puzzle piece clicked in place. Something about the texture of the wood or the movement of her hand made her realise the circumstances under which she had been here before.

“We stayed in here when we were on the run together.” she said loudly.

“Yes.” Red’s muffled voice confirmed from outside. He seemed to be standing beside the container with some distance instead of waiting by the door observing her every move. She appreciated the privacy as well as the comforting feeling of not being entirely there alone. And should he be right that whatever she may remember would alter how she felt about him then she couldn’t help but respect his courage to stay and endure her reaction.

To the right of the kitchen was a small corridor that led to a second room, a bed room. It featured a chest of drawers and a tiny closet, in between which a queen-size bed appeared significantly bigger than it would have in a regular sized bedroom. The bed looked used and she wondered if it was the way it had been left behind by the last person who slept in it or if her FBI colleagues had messed it up – maybe the same who stole the water-taps.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and felt the fabric of the bedsheets. Silk. No doubt Raymond Reddington had bought these. Even after years of not having been washed and being left to gather dust in a black site they felt nicer and softer than what most people would sleep in in a lifetime.

Suddenly she could hear soft piano music coming from the living room. Red must’ve turned on the record player. She stood up and walked back to the front part of the container where she could just about catch the last glimpse of his silhouette leaving it again. She thought about calling him over but then decided to go back to inspect the bed further. Something was pulling her into that room, a secret waiting to be discovered by her, hiding between the folds of the silken sheets.

Liz sat down on the bed again and this time she let herself fall back on the mattress. It gave in to her weight as if it had been waiting for her to return and she knew she had slept in this bed before. Above her head hung another chandelier similar to the one in the living room but smaller. She remembered that the light had been too bright and that she had asked him to dim it down while –––––

* * *

“That's Polaris. The North Star. That's how sailors used to find their way home. When I look at you, that's what I see. I see my way home.”

Liz looked up at him, trying to read his eyes but he kept staring into the night-sky above them. When he finally looked down he had a faint smile on his lips.

“We’re going to get you home, Lizzy.” he said. “It might take some time, some detours but I promise you I’ll take you home one way or another.”

She could feel the little hairs on her arms stand up and decided to attribute it to the cold ocean wind surrounding them. “As beautiful as it is out here, I’m starting to feel cold.” she said.

“Of course. After you.” he said and closed the doors of the shipping container behind them. Then he took their cognac glasses from the coffee table and brought them to the kitchen, there was still a bit left in hers. “Do you want to finish that?”

Liz walked over to him, took the glass from his hand and downed the last sip.

“I take that as a yes.”

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better.” she said.

“Is it working?”

“Yes.” she said. “Some.” Liz touched his upper arm as she said that. She meant to lean in for a hug and say good night but before she knew what was happening she found herself kissing him on the lips.

He kissed her back for a second, then stopped and backed off. “Lizzy.”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I don’t–”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry. I just… I don’t think we should go there.”

Liz felt as if the walls of the shipping container started moving closer, her instinct was to run away but there was nowhere to run to. She stumbled backwards and took refuge in the bedroom where she started to cry silently until a few minutes later she could feel him standing behind her. Something about that man just changed the atmosphere of whatever room he was in. You knew he was there even when you didn’t see him. You could hear him even when he was quiet; feel him even when he wasn’t touching you. She turned around to find him standing in the corridor just outside the tiny bedroom. He looked desperate, confused.

“The reason I don’t think we should go there is that I feel this–” His mouth twitched as he was trying to find his next words. “– guilt. I feel guilt.”

“For what?”

“Wanting you. Desiring you. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I just wanted to be there to protect you, keep you safe. Not to–” he stopped himself and Liz could see her own despair reflecting in his eyes. “I never planned for this.”

“Me neither.” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to feel guilty for letting it happen.” Liz reached forward, grabbed his arm and pulled him inside the bedroom. She balanced herself with her hands against his chest as she leaned in to kiss him again. There was no hesitation, no turning back this time. He followed her lead entirely, took what she offered, gave what she needed. 

Her entire life was falling to pieces and she couldn’t be certain of anything anymore. Anything but this one irrefutable truth: she wanted him. And despite the world being upside down she knew she was exactly where she was supposed be. Right here on this shipping container, in this very bed, naked and shameless, with Raymond Reddington’s lips on hers, devouring each other.

* * *

Liz was lying on the bed in the same spot where she had fallen asleep four years ago beside him. Except this time she was alone and fully dressed and not on the run anymore.

The record in the living room had reached the run-out groove and left her in complete silence until eventually she could hear his footsteps approaching on the hardwood floor. She sat up and saw him standing in the corridor, once more the shy and anxious school boy who didn’t dare enter the room for fear of being disciplined.

“So?” he asked.

She nodded.

Silence.

“I have a million questions but there’s this one that I keep circling back to.” she said eventually. “Why not bring me here sooner? It must’ve been… I can’t imagine how you were able to keep this to yourself, how you didn’t break under this.”

“I _did_ break. But I didn’t know how to tell you. Or when. Between dumping me for your ex and faking your own death to get away from me, I struggled finding the right moment.”

Liz could feel her stomach turn. She didn’t appreciate being reminded of this but she also couldn’t deny that he was hurt and she knew she had to make up for the pain she had caused him if she wanted to expect the same from him.

“I’m sorry, that was unfair.” he said. “Actually it didn’t even occur to me that your memory of our night together got blocked until you told me. I thought you were pretending it didn’t happen. When I realised what was really going on it was too late. I was trying to think of a way to tell you and the next thing you did was to knock on my door with a DNA test.”

Fresh tears began to fill her eyes, running down the salty paths of the previous ones like a shower of rain in a dry river bed. The next thing he’d say would determine whether she was glad to have the memory back or wished she had never asked. “And so you made me believe it was true, that I was your daughter. Why?”

“I spent almost half my life pretending to be Raymond Reddington. When you handed me that DNA test it seemed infinitely easier to just keep doing that.” he said. “I know now I should’ve told you the truth, the whole truth, right there and then. But I was a coward and I didn’t know how. How to tell you what I feel. How to be anyone other than who I am now.”

Liz wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “I don’t want you do be anyone else. All I want is for you to be honest with me. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” he said, his voice just a shiver away from breaking. “Elizabeth, I’m glad we came here. I’m glad you know now.”

“It still doesn’t feel like it happened to _me_.” she said. “I mean, I know it did but it’s more like remembering the plot of a movie. I wish I could go back and live that night again so it would feel real.”

In that moment Red suddenly left the spot in the corridor that he had been standing in almost motionless for the past five minutes. Before Liz could get up and see where he was going she heard the distant sound of a needle being dropped gently into the run-in-groove of a record. A few seconds of white noise and then the melody she had heard before started anew just as Red reappeared in the door frame. This time he didn’t stop there. He entered the room and sat down in the opposite edge of the bed with his back turned to her.

“I fear that’s the best I can do in terms of turning back time.” he said.

“You could lie down here beside me.”

“Yes.” he said. “I suppose I could.” He turned around slowly to do as she suggested. They were now both side by side, lying on their backs, staring into the chandelier that was just a touch too bright.

After saying nothing for a while he turned over on his side to look at her. “Do you regret it?” he asked.

“What? Sleeping with you or remembering it?”

“Both.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m glad I remember what happened, _how_ it happened. It was good. The sex, I mean. Why would I want to forget that?”

Red suppressed the smile on his lips but his eyes betrayed him. She could see it in the corner of her eye, the quiet pride of an accomplished lover that shone from his face.

“There’s one other thing.” he said, breaking yet another heavy silence between them.

Liz knew exactly what he was going to say. She turned to her side so they were now facing each other. “Guess I’m gonna have to ask you and Agnes to spit on a cotton swab.”


End file.
